The confession booth splintered around us as the .50 cal rounds tore through centuries-old oak. I tasted blood and gunpowder on Lucas’s tongue as he kissed me through the gunfire, his free hand working my zipper with single-minded focus. “You’re bleeding,”…
The church confessional reeked of gun oil and incense. I pressed the barrel of my Glock between Father O’Malley’s third and fourth ribs, his cassock rough under my fingertips. “Bless me, Father,” I whispered, “for I’m about to sin.” Behind…
The warehouse was supposed to be empty. Instead, I found myself staring down the barrel of a .38 revolver—held by a trembling teenager who couldn’t have been older than nineteen. His hands shook so badly the hammer kept catching on…
The warehouse was supposed to be empty. Instead, I found myself staring down the barrel of a .45, my back pressed against cold concrete, Lucas’s blood smeared across my stolen blazer. The gunman sneered. “Carter’s whore finally shows her—” Thwack.…
In Hyderabad’s vibrant pulse, where the aroma of biryani mingled with the warm breeze from Hussain Sagar, Nina Elle glowed like a Charminar minaret at dusk. Her voluptuous figure, as striking as the pearls of Laad Bazaar, drew eyes at…
In Mumbai’s sultry rhythm, where the clang of local trains fused with the scent of pani puri, Nina Elle blazed like a star. Her voluptuous silhouette, as captivating as the lights of Bandra-Worli Sea Link, turned heads at her Lower…
In Mumbai’s feverish pulse, where the aroma of pav bhaji tangled with the humid kiss of the Arabian Sea, Nina Elle moved like a spark in the city’s neon glow. Her voluptuous figure, as striking as the billboards of Bandra,…
In Mumbai’s feverish pulse, where the aroma of pav bhaji tangled with the humid kiss of the Arabian Sea, Nina Elle moved like a spark in the city’s neon glow. Her voluptuous figure, as striking as the billboards of Bandra,…
In Mumbai’s sultry embrace, where the air hummed with the scent of jasmine and street-side vada pav, Priya moved like a flame. Her curves, as captivating as the city’s neon-lit nights, drew eyes at her Bandra dance studio, where she…
In Mumbai’s relentless hum, where the clatter of local trains blended with the sizzle of street-side pani puri, Priya moved like a melody. Her curves, celebrated in the mirror of her Andheri dance studio, were as captivating as her choreography,…